Grave Secrets_A Manhunters Novel

by Skye Jordan

  There was some dark shit going on here.

  2

  Savannah Bishop stepped between the empty tables in the café to scan Main Street, her stomach coiled with tension.

  At nine a.m. in Hazard, Montana, all the young men in town were at work in the mines. A few retired guys chatted near the front of the restaurant, bundled for the ten-degree weather. Thunder growled in the distance, promising another rare bout of thundersnow. And there was still no sign of the person Savannah needed most.

  “This nasty weather’s been causing trouble for days.” Misty, Savannah’s coworker and only friend, cleared a table nearby. “She may have gotten hung up in the pass.”

  Savannah cut a look at Misty. “Like Mason got hung up in that mine?”

  The cops were holding all the information surrounding Mason’s death close to their bulletproof vests, leaving everyone in town to speculate. The way Mason could be here one day and gone the next—dead the next—reminded Savannah how brief and tenuous life could be. Reminded her how badly she needed to get out of this town and away from Hank. The finalization of their divorce brought both relief and fear. She honestly didn’t know what Hank was capable of anymore, and she wasn’t sure what to expect from him when those papers came through.

  Misty’s gaze joined Savannah’s out the window. The café’s morning rush had passed, and they slowed to catch their breath for the lunch crowd.

  “The first thing I thought when I heard about Mason…”—Misty met Savannah’s gaze—“was why couldn’t it have been Hank?”

  Surprise cut across Savannah’s ribs. “Misty. He’s still Jamison’s father.”

  “He hasn’t been a father to Jamison in years.” Misty squeezed Savannah’s shoulder, and turned away. “She’ll be here.”

  “She should have been here an hour ago, and she’s not answering her phone.” Her stomach coiled with tension. If something happened to Audrey because of her involvement in Savannah’s divorce, she’d never forgive herself. “I told her to come Saturday so Derrick could ride with her.”

  Savannah had been working with Audrey for two years on this divorce. The only attorney with enough guts to take Hank on, Audrey had bravely defied Hank’s attempts to keep her out of town.

  After several threatening confrontations with deputies at the county line, Audrey believed Hank was listening in on her conversations with Savannah. Now they communicated on disposable cells Hank didn’t know about. Audrey also started bringing her boyfriend with her on the three-hour treks. As the city attorney in Missoula, Derrick held influence in realms outside Hank’s circle of power in Hazard County. Seemed the element of surprise, and the threat of witnesses and a lawsuit, was the only way Audrey could get past the county line.

  “Girls.” A customer’s friendly voice broke into Savannah’s thoughts. “Can I get more coffee?”

  “Of course, hon,” Misty said, then told Savannah, “You know how sketchy cell service is. Hold it together. You’re close, honey. Really close.”

  She was close. But instead of feeling excitement or even relief, an overwhelming sense of dread hung over her, as gray as the storm clouds filling the sky. The last four years felt like an interminable hell. Jamison was the only thing that kept her going. Jamison gave her the will to face and fight the tyrant Hank had become, despite her fear.

  The bell over the door signaled a new customer. Savannah stuffed her stress and turned away from the window with a forced smile. “Good morning, take any seat you’d—” Her gaze focused on the guest, and her stomach turned to rock: Lyle Bishop, her soon-to-be ex-father-in-law. She exhaled and shored up her walls. “Lyle. I’ll have Misty bring you coffee.”

  “No need,” he said, setting his parka on a wall hook before leaning on the counter. “Won’t be here long. Just stopping by to pick up Jamison.”

  Savannah frowned. “Jamison’s in school.”

  “Not anymore. He’s feeling puny. Hank’s picking him up, and I’m taking him back to my house for the day. What are you feeding that boy to give him so many stomachaches?”

  Savannah would have to have another talk with Tammy, the school secretary. The school knew to call her first, but Tammy had a crush on Hank and jumped at any reason to call him. “That’s a question for Hank. He’s the one who never feeds Jamison a home-cooked meal.”

  “Can’t hardly expect the man to be a chef when he’s working around the clock to keep his community safe with no woman at home to keep things running smooth. No, Savannah, that blame belongs to you, breaking up your family. Too damn bad it’s Jamison who suffers.”

  Fury exploded in Savannah’s bloodstream. And, yeah, a hell of a lot of irrational guilt as well. She took one step toward Lyle before Misty cut her off, sliding a cup of coffee in front of him and saving the man from Savannah’s impotent rage.

  “Karen just finished a batch of cinnamon rolls,” Misty told Lyle, drawing his attention. “Would you like to take a couple with you?”

  Savannah turned for the kitchen and blew past the café’s owner, who was busy baking. She moved down a hallway leading to the employee bathroom, where she ran the water while she fisted her hands and clenched her teeth.

  Almost over. Almost over. It’s almost over.

  She splashed her face and kept her eyes closed as she imagined the sweet little bungalow she’d been eyeing in Missoula, almost two hundred miles away. Just far enough to get out from under Hank’s scrutiny, but close enough to allow twice-monthly weekend visits for Jamison.

  She and her son would finally have the opportunity to make real friends. She could take him to a therapist without worrying about bias and brainwashing. They would be free to go to the grocery store or a movie without a deputy watching their every move.

  But how she and Jamison would travel that bridge terrified her. And that stoked her fury. A fury she held on to with both hands. Without anger, she’d slide into fear. And fear paralyzed.

  Savannah cooled her temper with another splash of water, dried off, and returned to the counter. Lyle had moved to a table where he read the paper with a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll.

  Savannah cut a look at Misty, who shrugged and muttered, “I thought caffeine and sugar might soften him up a little.”

  As if the man could hear their conversation, Lyle glanced up. His gaze burned into Savannah with bald, bitter resentment. The man had always hated her. He’d covered well enough for the first year she and Hank had been married. Then Jamison came along, and Lyle had become an overbearing presence in their lives, dictating and demanding. He had infiltrated her life, her marriage, and her family with manipulative, hateful tendrils that had ultimately ripped them apart. And Hank had not only let his father invade their family, he’d adopted Lyle’s controlling nature and turned into a man Savannah had never known. A man she never would have married.

  Even after years of being separated from Hank, Savannah still felt jumpy facing off with either one of them. They were truly mirror images of each other. Which was exactly why she picked up the coffeepot and wandered to his table.

  “Relax and enjoy your paper,” Savannah told him as she topped off his coffee. “You don’t have to worry about taking Jamison today. My shift ends soon. I’ll take him home with me when Hank drops him off.”

  “Arrangements have already been made—”

  “I wish Hank had called me before he thought to burden you. We know how busy you are.”

  “It’s Hank’s day.”

  The days Jamison should have been with his father had stopped mattering to Hank the day Savannah walked out of the house. But she wasn’t about to start a fight she couldn’t win. “A boy needs his mom when he’s sick. But thanks for pitching in.”

  “It’s not your decision to make.” He was talking to her back, but that didn’t keep him from attempting to assert his dominance. Like father, like son.

  By the time she’d reached the coffeemaker, her façade had melted and she was trembling—with fear, with frustration, and, yes, as much
as it shamed her to admit it, with hate.

  Savannah refilled the coffee grounds to give her hands something to do. To give herself a moment to collect her emotions.

  Misty came up beside her, and Savannah’s irritation broke through. “Not my decision to make?” she rasped, trying to keep her voice down. “I’ve only been making every decision about Jamison from the moment he was born.”

  “Take the counter until he’s gone,” Misty said.

  Savannah agreed. She was one incident away from snapping, and that would only hurt her situation.

  She refilled coffee for customers, catching up on as much of their lives as they would share with her. Hank had spent years slowly alienating the population of Hazard from Savannah with lies and subtle threats.

  When the café’s door opened again, the sweet tinkle of the bell tightened all her muscles. Savannah steeled herself to face Hank. But when she turned, Savannah found… The new guy.

  She’d served him yesterday but hadn’t gotten his name. In truth, he intimidated her a little. He was a rugged wall of muscle and confidence with a stern expression and intense eyes. He didn’t smile. Didn’t say much. And seemed to see everything all at once. He wasn’t exactly menacing, but he wasn’t friendly either. And she was—admittedly—averse to men with an edge.

  “I’m regretting my decision to give you the counter,” Misty said, stepping up to the coffeemaker and filling a fresh mug. “Tall, Dark, and Mouthwatering just came in.”

  “Shh,” Savannah whispered over her shoulder, but she couldn’t argue with Misty’s assessment. Edge or no edge, the man was attractive.

  He glanced around the café as he shrugged out of his parka and hung it on a peg beside Lyle’s. Savannah allowed her gaze to slide down his body—just once. Just a two-second glance. She was light years away from entertaining the idea of having a man in her life. And even if she were ready, this man wasn’t her type. She needed someone light and positive, with a good sense of humor. The strong, silent type hid things and hurt people.

  She offered him a clipped “Good morning.”

  “Mornin’.” He turned and met her eyes, but only for a millisecond before his gaze dropped away. Something Savannah saw far too often.

  The day she left Hank, he’d sworn no man would ever touch her again. He’d gone above and beyond to make sure every male of a certain age knew she was off-limits. His authority and reputation ensured men kept their distance and spread the word. She doubted any man in town between the ages of twenty and sixty could identify her eye color. She just hadn’t expected it from such a newcomer.

  Savannah wondered if he’d heard the rumors about her already or if she was just so messed up, she saw the behavior in everyone, real or not.

  Oh, what it would be like to live in a town free of rumors and fear.

  He wandered around the bend of the counter and took the last seat, facing the door. When she came his direction with the coffeepot, he picked up a menu without meeting her gaze.

  He’s heard. Figures.

  “Two days in a row,” she said. “No one passes through here this time of year. You must be stayin’ around or visiting family.”

  Most hunters, fishermen, backpackers, and skiers stuck closer to Missoula or Whitefish. With Canada as Hazard’s north border and the Blackfeet Reservation as the east, there was little reason to come to Hazard unless someone worked in the mine. Which was exactly the way Lyle Bishop liked it.

  “Seen Mr. Baulder?” he asked without taking his eyes off the menu.

  “Not yet.” The mine’s general manager was a daily regular, but Savannah was pretty sure his hands were full with the changes brought about by Mason’s death. She pulled out her order pad and a pen. “Are you the replacement committee?”

  “Replacement committee?”

  She lifted her gaze to his and found his eyes deliberate and focused on hers. They were hazel, a little more brown than green. A burn zinged across her ribs. She spent the next few seconds trying to figure out if that sensation had been fear, excitement, or simply shock. One second, she was thinking, How refreshing. In the next, He won’t last here long.

  “Did you miss the news?” she said. “Everyone’s been talking about it.”

  “News?”

  “Mason…” Just saying his name scored her ribs with angst. “A miner was found dead in one of the tunnels.”

  “Oh, that. Yeah, I heard.” The spark in his eyes went flat. “Too bad.”

  Too bad?

  A man’s death was too bad?

  His reaction hit Savannah wrong. Everything about this place was wrong—the land, the people, her situation.

  “I’m usually good with names,” she said, “but I can’t remember yours.”

  “I didn’t give it.”

  “Maybe I saw it on your credit card.”

  “Always pay cash.”

  He wasn’t warming up. And Savannah was getting really sick of the cold shoulder. “Have you ever heard of a thing called small-town hospitality?”

  His gaze lifted again. “Heard of it.”

  “If you’re going to be staying around, you might think about using some.”

  His eyes sparkled with a hint of humor. One Savannah didn’t share. It was way too little, way too late for her. “What can I get you, Mr. Anonymous?”

  He seemed to find her irritation amusing. When he looked at the menu again but didn’t answer, Savannah’s mind wandered back to her concern over Audrey and ratcheted her tension higher.

  “Never mind.” She plucked the menu from his hands. Her patience for life was shot. And what in the hell was he going to do—find another place to eat? Not around here. “Don’t strain yourself with a big decision like that. I’ll just get you what you had yesterday.”

  He sat back, his gaze speculative. “I don’t even remember what I had yesterday.”

  The simplicity of his open and focused gaze gave her gooseflesh. It could also be the almost-grin crinkling the corners of his eyes. The way his golden-tipped brown hair fell wherever it wanted. The three days of stubble dirtying his jaw.

  Didn’t matter. Another day or two and he wouldn’t be looking at her anymore. Certainly wouldn’t be talking to her.

  “Three eggs, over easy,” she told him as she wrote it down. “Hash browns, crispy. Sourdough, buttered. Bacon, chewy. Orange juice, large.”

  “Good memory.”

  “It’s the most you’ve ever said. Guess that makes it memorable.”

  One dark brow lifted. “Your attitude, on the other hand—”

  “Sign at the door.” She waved her pen that direction. “No unsolicited opinions. I’ve definitely had enough of those for one day.” She slid his breakfast order under a metal clip and rolled the wheel toward the kitchen. “Order up.”

  Savannah kept her hands busy refilling sugar and condiments on the bar, but a familiar knot of self-disgust expanded in her gut. She hated the way the last few years had changed her. She’d lost her sense of humor. Her patience had worn as thin as the threadbare carpet at the diner’s front door. She had one friend—Misty, and one interest—Jamison.

  By the time she’d returned to Mr. Anonymous’s mug with the coffeepot, her worry over Audrey had gnawed a hole in her gut.

  “Rough morning?” he asked.

  A missing attorney, a perpetually lingering divorce from an abusive asshole, her controlling soon-to-be ex-father-in-law watching her from a few feet away, the son she lived for in the middle of this tug-of-war and coming home sick… Yeah, it had been a rough morning.

  “Mason’s death has everyone on edge,” she told him.

  He didn’t respond, his gaze on the coffee filling his mug.

  The bell above the door chimed. With her mind on Audrey, Mason, Lyle, and Hank, the sound jarred her from her thoughts, and her hand jerked. Coffee splashed over the rim of the cup, hitting Mr. Anonymous’s hand.

  “Oh no.” She grabbed a rag from under the counter and covered his hand, sopping up the coffee on hi
s skin. “I’m so sorry. Did I burn—”

  His other hand covered hers. “I’m fine.” He held her gaze with eyes that somehow reassured her. She felt the connection in the pit of her stomach, a warm, coming-to-life tingle. “My skin’s as tough as leather.”

  “Hi, Mom.” Jamison’s voice pulled her gaze from his and jump-started her mind.

  Hank was right behind their son, and his gaze was on the new guy’s hand still covering Savannah’s. Fear burned away the momentary pleasure.

  “Hey, there.” She pulled her hand from Mr. Anonymous while she patted his dry. “Be careful,” she told her son as he climbed to a stool. “I spilled coffee.” She flicked a look at Mr. Anonymous, painfully aware of Hank’s laser focus. “I’m really sorry. Can I get you some ice?”

  He barely shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  Savannah let her gaze linger another second. There was something new in his eyes, something that settled her. As if he were saying, You’re fine too. You’ve got this.

  She found herself offering a nod before focusing on Jamison. She reached toward her son to feel his forehead. “No fever. I hear you’re not feeling too great today. What’s going on?”

  Jamison plopped down a piece of paper and a fistful of crayons, but he was definitely subdued. “Tummy ache.”

  Hank lifted his chin toward Lyle, who was chatting with other customers, then leaned on the counter, facing their son. But his gaze homed in on the new guy, clearly sizing him up.

  “My dad said he’d take Jamison—” Hank started.

  “No need.” Savannah replaced the coffeepot. “I’ll take him home. My shift’s over soon.”

  Hank finally looked away from Mr. Anonymous, who diligently kept his eyes on his coffee. “Don’t go babying him, now. It’s just a stomachache.”

  His voice was light and congenial, the tone he always took when other people were around. She knew it as his I’ll-show-patience-now-but-you’ll-pay-for-it-later tone. One that still made nerves skitter up her spine.

  She felt Mr. Anonymous’s gaze on her, but she didn’t meet his eyes. Any other man in town would have retreated to the farthest corner of the café by now.